


threading

by Koisuu



Category: Elsword (Video Game)
Genre: Anger Management, Denial, lol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-09-02 08:30:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8659828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Koisuu/pseuds/Koisuu
Summary: an·gerˈaNGɡər/nouna strong feeling of annoyance, displeasure, or hostility.





	

 

The thread that held Dreadlord’s sanity into punching someone’s face into the wall was slowly snapping as time passed by, _slowly_ and _steadily._

A doctor (that he was forced to fucking go to after the relentless reprimanding of friends) offered him pills that would help him— _help him,_ control his short temper _._ Fucking hilarious—was the doctor even certified?

That wasn’t that point.

Dreadlord didn’t have anger issues, nope, absolutely not.

Anyone who claimed they just cared about him could just fucking die—because he would sooner take a cock up his ass than take fucking _pills_.

And anyways, anyone in Lanox was guaranteed a _fraud_.  

 

-

“Have you consulted the doctor about your anger issues yet?”

The smell of Ravioli filled Dreadlord’s nostrils and he gave a blissful sigh. After a tiring day of work, he couldn’t wait to sink his teeth into that soft, delicious, homemade—

“ _Dreadlord.”_

The familiar feeling of irritation.

 “ _What?_ ” Dreadlord growled from the couch, clenching his fingers. Couldn’t he get some relaxation time without being chided by Royal Guard?

God, so annoying. So _annoying_.

The more he thought about the insignificant matter, the angrier he got. He bit his lip to draw blood, dug his sharp nails into his palms, clenched his teeth, breathing grew erratic.

“Dreadlord, are you listening to me? I asked you a question.”

He heard, Jesus fucking Christ! Why was his lover so goddamn annoying!?

Out of pure aggravation, he took the closest thing to him-- which happened to be a glass cup, and threw it at the television in front of him.

The impact of the cup smashing into the screen, causing it to dent in, created a not-to-lovely sound.

“What was that!?” Royal Guard yelled from the kitchen, and seconds later he appeared at the doorway of the living room. “Did you throw a _glass cup_ at the television!?”

“Are you fucking blind? Don’t you have fucking eyes, because _yes_ , I did!” Dreadlord screamed back, shooting up from the couch to push the television off the counter it was on. To add on to his rage, he kicked it a few times, then finished off with a stomp to the screen.

His breathing was labored, vision distorting everything in front of him.

He slowly turned around to see Royal Guard staring at him with wide eyes, filled with disbelief with what he was seeing.

And then he shook his head, whipped around and stomped back into the kitchen.

-

“You threw a cup at the television— don’t speak yet, I’m still talking—and then you kicked the television, uh, like how many times? A lot?”

“ _Yes_. Do I have to repeat the story one more fucking time because you have hearing probl—“

The doctor gave a pointed glare to Dreadlord and the latter stopped speaking.

“And you still claim to say that you don’t have anger issues? Did Royal Guard force you to come here? Or did you drag your ass to come here because you’re guilty?”

“I don’t have fucking anger issues! I just got really pissed, ok!?” Dreadlord argued. “And it’s none of your fucking business.”

Dreadlord earned a bored look from the doctor, who then went back to jotting things down on his clipboard.

_Probably writing down how much money he can leech out of my fucking arse—_

“I take it haven’t been taking the medication I’ve prescribed you?”

“Drugs.”

“Shut up. Medication.”

“Can you really be saying shut up to me—“

“Take two every day. If you don’t, you’ll probably end up looking down at your lover’s corpse. Now get out of my office, you’re stinking it up.”

Dreadlord gaped, then scowled as he got up from the chair. “Sure you’re not the one stinking up your own office, fucking quack? Glad to leave,” then yanked the door open and slammed it shut as hard as he could.

_Un-fucking-believable._

 

 


End file.
